The Broken Road
by bearandtheangel
Summary: The Hunger Games makes everybody tense. I just try to not show it. / The story of Annie Cresta, from her own Games to the beginning of one of Panem's greatest love stories. F/A canon compliant (includes original characters)


For the second time on our visit the waves crash over the side of the boat. It's my father's boat; old, off-white and wooden. It's stable, and I enjoy coming here in it almost as much as my father does.

"Whoa whoa WHOA," my brother exclaims. He's younger than me by two years, and being fifteen, prone to seasickness, and having a flair for dramatics, he's not the best company out on rocky waters.

But I like it. And if he'll accept on conditions, I don't mind listening to him complain every so often. He may be dramatic, but he's not very creative; his conditions don't bother me much.

"Don't worry," I say. I'm not confident, but I'm okay with steering. He seems to see me falter while trying to navigate and he gapes at me. "I said don't worry. I've got this."

I might not, but he believes me.

He sits back and nibbles on his sandwich, which I made him before I left to act as a pacifier – sometimes it works. He doesn't talk for a minute, and then he perks up.

"What time is it?"

"I don't have a clock," I tell him.

"Well, we might be late," he says nervously.

The peacekeepers are wary about letting us out here, especially so late in the afternoon. There are white ropes set out, not so far but not so near to shore, and if we cross, I'm sure there will be massive consequences. I don't see why the peacekeepers wouldn't take whatever chance they get to punish us.

I look under the sun. "We're miles away."

"In two minutes, with your steering, we'll cross the border," my brother says. He's wearing tinted glasses, and the sun made me squint.

"Okay," I say. I look out there still, eyes-narrowed, wondering how easy it would be to escape. I wonder if anybody has tried, or if anybody will in my lifetime.

A whistle blows.

"Okay," I say again. "Let's go. I'm hungry anyway."

The second warning whistle just blows as I'm nearing, and my brother sighs. We made it. No peacekeepers on our case. Well, except Eren.

"Almost," Eren says as my brother and I step out of the boat, hauling our bags and coats with us. It was cold when we set out, but like always here, it grew sunnier and warmer, just how I like it. Late afternoon in Four is always my favourite.

"Not really," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"I had to blow the whistle twice," Eren says. He's a little older than I am, with dusty blond hair, slightly curved eyes and a permanent scowl. He's grumpy, and we tease him a lot, my brother and me.

I look out to the sea. As always, it's inviting, more beautiful than anything I've ever seen, with all my favourite colours combined, and I want to dive in. There are no other boats out there now we've left, except docked and further away on the other side of the district, nearer Victor's Village. If I walked on the beach for a few miles, I could see the mansions, the restaurants and bars, and the fishermen. It's so lively down there, but lovely here.

I stay put. I may go swimming soon, when the sun starts to set and the faint sound of music from the open restaurants near the Village starts to play. I never know the words, but the brilliance of Four's musicians is incomprehensible; sometimes I float on my back and watch the stars appear as somebody, maybe the victor Ron, starts a fantastic chorus.

Now, when I look back at Eren, I see he's looking at me like he knows what I'm thinking. "I'm not monitoring you tonight," he huffs. "There's a party down there."

He points to the further beach, the Village beach.

"A party?" my brother asks, scratching his head. "So close to the reaping?"

Eren smiles. "Well, some of us don't have to worry, do we? Now go. You're bothering me."

I smile back as my brother and I go to leave. Eren gives me a look, like, I'm watching you. I don't doubt he is. Maybe tonight I'll swim down there, pay him a visit. I'm sure he'd love that just as much as the other victors.

"Blunt," my brother says.

Our house isn't far from here, but we still have to pass the shack. It's the local hangout for kids our age. In fact, some kids from my school are sitting at the bar with smoothies in front of them in radiant colours, and they look happy and relaxed.

I can see Will amongst them. His eyes betray him. He's scared, like most people our age are. Only, we have volunteers. People train for this very reason.

Next to Will, one of the older kids sits, laughing loudly. He's one of the charming boys. Will told me a while back that something was going on with their group. A week later he came into school with a bruised cheek.

He'd found them training with real weapons, using handmade dummies and targets. Four of them. The older boys, the ones who will probably have a legacy in our school. Out of them I only know Jesse, and that's because his father works with mine. Jesse didn't hit Will, but one of them did. Swore if he told they'd beat him more, leaving him cold, maybe.

As I pass the shack I wonder if one of them will volunteer.

As I pass Will's mother's candy shop I wonder if I'm hoping one of them will.

...

When we get home my brother throws down his bag and swears I'm reckless. My mother clips his ear for his language using the clean end of her wooden spoon. With the other end she lets me taste the soup she's making. I pull myself onto the counter and listen to my brother exaggerate a tale of today to my father, who sits at our small table with an amused expression.

"She almost made us topple over," he says, earning an eye roll from my mother. She looks like him, so similar I wonder if he has any of our father in him. His humour, maybe. And his ability to roll off bad things, like the time Jesse chipped his tooth for telling on him for drinking liquor at fourteen. Those sorts of bad things.

My mother hands my brother a knife and says, "Start on the onions. And while you're at it, cut the story, too. Your father was telling me about work."

My brother would be an idiot to disobey my mother, so he spends the next ten minutes chopping fresh onions while my father retells something about Jesse's father and their new boat and their catches. They're a great team.

"I saw two fish today," my brother says, slipping a slice of onion into his mouth. Maybe that's something else he has in common with my father – his disgusting habits.

"Only two?" I tease. I saw plenty, of course.

"Big ones." My brother gives me a look.

"So Capitol size?" my mother says, not facing any of us.

It's rarely spoken about in Four, but it's true. On our markets in town, we get small types of fish. The Capitol, they get the big ones, the fancy ones that would cost a lot to display and distribute. It's not bad though, because we still get the catches they don't want, and any we slip past them.

I think of slipping past Eren with a stomach sized fish under my shirt and smile.

"Party tonight," my father says minutes later and sits up straight. "Down in the Village. Hard to believe it's so close."

My mother gives him a look, and I know what's she's talking about.

In our house we don't talk about the reaping.

There's not much else to talk about, though. My father stretches, my mother cooks and my brother and I fling onion skins at each other until my father says, "We saw you today."

"Did you?" I say. I'm surprised. A fisherman never pays attention to other boats, lest he welcome a distraction and a chance for somebody to steal one or two of their catches.

"You're getting better," he says, smiling. My father looks like me. Or I look like him, with dark hair and green eyes. His hair is almost black now, and he has crinkles by his eyes. He has calloused hands, rough, a signature of his work.

I smile back. A few lazy moments pass, and the doorbell rings.

My mother points her spoon. "Annie."

I point my foot. "Lucas."

"Dad," my brother says, yawning.

My father goes to stand, but my mother holds up her hand. "I saw Will walk down the beach. It can't be anyone else."

I hop off the countertop quickly, and my brother jabs my side when I walk out of the kitchen. I curse at him, and my mother yells as my father laughs. I'm not embarrassed of Will hearing. He's about as used to it as I am.

I open the door and lean against the post. "Missed me that much?"

Will looks happier than when I saw him a half hour ago. He's still wearing his gray shorts and white shirt, and his eyes are lit up.

"More," he says. "And more than that."

"All right," I say. "Enough with the flattery."

Will gestures inside. "Busy?"

"Only dinner," I tell him. "Joining?"

Will and I have an easy friendship, moulded together by our families after generations. Our children may be the same, using the other's showers when their hot water goes, borrowing sugar for cookies, preparing for the Hunger Games. The usual friendly stuff.

"Can't," he says. "I have to get ready for this party."

"Party?" I say. It clicks. "You're going to the party tonight, down by the Village? With Eren and Jesse?" I don't doubt Jesse will go, or his friends. His cousin won the Hunger Games some time ago.

"No," he says. "With Paddy and Marina."

I like them a lot more than Jesse, but the party unsettles me. It seems insensitive.

"Okay," I say slowly. I itch my nose. A bird sings. My mother, inside, chastises my brother for putting his used spoon back in the pot of soup.

Will doesn't say anything.

"So what are you saying?" I finally ask.

"You're our friend," he says. "We want you to come. You've been... tense lately."

I disagree, but I wonder why he blames me anyway. It's the reaping tomorrow.

"I'm okay," I say tersely. "I'm not really a party girl."

Will half-smiles. "It's not so much a party. A get together. We want to see each other before..."

Before the reaping. I get it. Paddy is eighteen, it's his last shot. I think he wants to volunteer, although I haven't spoken to him much lately. He's been busy. (Busy training, but Will made me swear not to tell anybody.)

I look back into my house. If my dad knows, he may find out if I go. On the other hand, sometimes I think my family trust Will more than they trust me.

I turn back and nod.

"What?" Will says. "Really?"

"Pick me up," I sigh.

Will waits a moment. Then he smiles, and nods. "Okay. Seven?" He begins stepping back, still facing me. I shrug. I don't care. I just want to see my friends.

"See you, then," he says, waving. He picks up a jog and I watch him leave, kicking sand up behind him even though he runs on cobbles.

I go back into the house and take a deep breath through my nose. A party. Before reaping. Or a get together, whatever Will wants to call it.

My mother, father and brother all poke their heads out of the kitchen door. My brother wears a stupid grin.

"Okay?" my father says.

"Of course," I say. "Soup?"

"Ten minutes," my mother says. She taps my brother's head. "Your turn today."

My brother groans and turns to go set the table. We have a small kitchen, so I still see him.

I run upstairs after my parents go back into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Each step creaks. If I'm quick, which I usually am, I could make it through my shower and dinner and get ready in time for Will to pick me up, and then I'll make up an excuse to tell my parents.

I spend less time on my long hair in the shower and I come out less sandy, but still smelling salty. It's typical here. I'm unsurprised, and I don't bother to mask it with anything.

Quickly I change into slacks, and I'm downstairs before my mother has a chance to call me.

"Somebody is eager," my father says, sitting down.

"You hog all the rolls," I say, taking a bread roll and breaking it in half. One thing is for sure, even with our slightly lower standard fish, we have great bread. In our dull kitchen light it looks all green, when in fact it's only a little bit tinted with seaweed.

I eat and converse like normal. Though we don't talk about the Games, there's still a tenseness that reminds me of what Will said.

You've been tense lately.

The Hunger Games makes everybody tense. I just try to not show it.

My mother makes my brother and me eat more than we need, I think. We have good food and a stable income, but I still think we should save some. My father wolfs down four rolls, as usual, and he doesn't notice how my mother gives him looks as he does. He's oblivious, and I like that about him.

"So dad," I say through a mouthful of soggy bread. My mother taps my knee and I swallow. "Dad. Any news on the strike?"

It's unspoken and taboo, here, to even mention going on a strike. Especially fishermen. But some of the older men have been complaining, I've heard. Will's father is one of the older generation, years older than mine, and I heard through him that some people are growing sick of the way we are treated. The demands were growing fatiguing. Simply, they cannot cope.

They won't cope. Something needs to be done, they say.

My brother sits upright now and stares at my parents. "Strike."

My mother stares at me. "Annie."

"Will told me," I say, not looking at her. It's not entirely true, but they'll react nicer if I say that. I feel sorry for him sometimes, because I always use him as my excuse. "Is it true?" I ask. Will's father doesn't lie. I wonder if my father will lie to me.

My father remains quiet, chewing. Finally he says, "They won't do it."

"What?" Part of me is relived. Part of me hoped for something, something good to give us some freedom, a glimpse of a better future. But even such a small act of rebellion is dangerous. "How come?"

"Annie," my mother says.

"A strike," my brother says, shaking his head. "Newsflash: fifty dead fisherman and a district in mourning." He mimics peacekeepers shooting.

My mother stands, shaking the table as she slams her hands down. "No more." She glances at my father, who had his mouth open to reply to me. "This is the last we'll speak of this."

Three years ago my mother said the same about the Hunger Games. My brother was twelve, shaking and crying as we were led into the square. As somebody shouted, screamed, "I volunteer as tribute!" two or three seconds after our escort had finished the ending of the name Cresta.

I have no doubt the strike will fall into the pit of unspoken topics in our family beside the Hunger Games and my father's affair.

I look over at him. He does not want to say anything else, I know. He's done enough.

"I'm going to get ready," I say eventually, standing. My mother has sat back down, and the room is quiet excepting the warm wind from the open window and the distant hum of music from Victor's Village.

...

My bedroom overlooks the sea like our kitchen. The view calms me, and I open my window to let in the smell, the wind. Like our kitchen, the room is small. But the vastness outside makes me feel alive.

A picture curls on my wall. It was before my brother turned twelve, before the reaping had any affect on me. I close my eyes, steadying myself. Of course I worry about him, even though it's been three years since that random act of kindness which saved him. Who knows if the same would happen again? Would Paddy volunteer, if anything but for the Cresta name, one he knows so well?

I don't think of anything else. I open my eyes and turn, away from the family photo and away from that thought.

My hair is curly and reaches my lower back; it rests on my lace, sheer t-shirt and doesn't quite meet my skirt, even though it's high-waisted. There is a small clothing store in town where Marina chose this outfit for me, and I wear it so she'll recognise it.

I think of my friends as I dress, staring out of my window. It's growing darker by the second, and the solar lamps in our small garden are beginning to turn on. They're not powerful but they light up enough so I can see the faraway sea, where nobody has ever been from Four and where I wish, wish I could go.

For a second I'm captivated. A voice makes me jump.

"Mom," I say, startled. "Are you okay?"

My mother isn't old, but she isn't as young as some of the other mothers in the district, such as Jesse's, for instance. She is beautiful, though, which is what makes my brother such a pretty boy. She has lovely features, and even with her sternness, kind blue-gray eyes.

When she sees me, she smiles. It's slight, but it's there.

With the strain of the last few years I'm surprised she smiles at all, no matter how rare they are anyway.

"You look nice," she says.

I want to cringe. I'm certain she'll tell me to change, stop being silly and get ready for bed. It's not late, but it's only a day away. Less than a day.

"Thanks," I say. I haven't asked if I can go out, but even my mother relaxed as I got older and started to have more of a social surrounding. She can't baby me anymore. She can barely baby Lucas, but she tries.

There's a long pause. Then she reaches for the coral pendant around her neck, slips it off and ushers me over.

I only need to step once and I'm facing the mirror. My mother holds back my hair as she clasps the pendant around my neck, letting it fall to my collarbone.

I take it in. I've always admired it. Kind of like her.

"There," she says. She pulls away and holds me by my shoulders. I can see the crinkles by her eyes, like my father's, this close. Possibly once she laughed a lot. Not anymore.

"Go and have fun with your friends," she says, looking me in the eyes. I almost cower and mention the party, but I needn't. There's a knowing look. A look I've seen before, right before my father confessed to adultery.

She hugs me, and I'm startled by the affection. She pulls away just as quickly. "Will is here," she says softly. "I just saw him walk along the beach."

My mother leaves and I stand in a daze.

When I leave with Will, I wonder why my mother lets me go. Something funny happens in my stomach and I feel I have vertigo for a second, until I see Paddy and Marina running towards us. In a flash my nerves are gone, and they're replaced with contentment.

Marina takes one look at me as Paddy and Will start bantering off each other and says, "Almost like you have somebody you want to impress."

I look over at Paddy and Will, who start play-fighting. My eyebrow is raised before I even realise. "Of course," I say dryly.

Marina grins. She's pretty, with dark skin, long hair and bright, friendly eyes. Like with Will, her family grew up with mine, and thus we grew up with each other, the three of us. Paddy came somewhere along the way.

At that point Paddy turns. We're walking idly, following Will, who knows the place where his father fishes and therefore thinks he's the one who needs to lead us to the beach. Paddy smiles at me and says, "I almost forgot. I saw your brother yesterday with one of the twins. I didn't know he had a girlfriend."

Neither did I. I shrug. "Does it matter?"

Paddy keeps his smile and moves to hug me. He smells like sea salt, too, and his arms are strong from days working with his parents, who work alongside all our fathers. Like with most boys here, Paddy's hair is lightened by the sun and he has tan skin.

I take him in. The sickness starts to come back when I look at him, imagining him volunteering.

Will and Marina start talking as Paddy lingers behind with me. "Better give them their privacy," Paddy says, rolling his eyes.

I pretend not to know what he's talking about even though it's a well known fact that the two of them like each other and have for years. The only people who don't know it are themselves.

The walk is long, miles of sand to cross until we finally reach the richer area of the district, the beginnings of the fancy open-door restaurants and shacks and bars. There are wooden tables on the beach, lit by candlelight, and some couples enjoying drinks and seafood.

I see Marina's sister with her husband, Ron, and then I don't see anybody else I know. I didn't expect to. Maybe soon I'll see Jesse and the kids from school, but for now, the only people I know are my three companions.

Will stops after the third restaurant, which has a musician on a small stage playing a string instrument, and points. "Crowd. Music. Food. I think we're close."

There is a crowd, he's correct. It's too far away to see if I know anybody yet, but I can hear happy people. It'll be a good environment. Maybe I'll recognise some victors or the mayor or some of the older fishermen, the ones who are reportedly going on strike.

I know I should talk to Will about it. But I'm scared with all these people here that somebody will overhear – especially since I know Eren is here.

We keep walking. Soon we are enveloped with people, though it's comfortable. We pass some of the kids in our year at school and say small greetings, but other than that, we only talk to ourselves. It's only when a familiar dance begins that we loosen up.

"I dare you," Paddy says, throwing his arm around Marina's shoulders, "to go and dance with one of the victors."

There are five victors in Four. I only see three since Ron has newly joined the scene. Mags and Finnick aren't here.

If I strain my neck, I can see their houses. They're side by side, I remember Marina telling me after she came back from visiting Ron and her sister one afternoon. They're huge and white and lit up by solar lights, showing off their balconies and lovely gardens.

I've never been in the Village. This is probably the closest I'll ever get.

I hear a shout, pulling me out of my cloud. Will is watching me, and I realise I was staring at Finnick Odair's home.

"Where's Marina?" I ask.

Paddy turns to me, grinning wickedly. "Look!"

I do. Marina is yelling happily, dancing with Ron. Her sister tapes it using something I've never seen before in person: a video camera. I wonder stupidly how she afforded it, but I quickly remember she's a victor's wife.

The party continues with loud excitement. When I go to a shack to get a smoothie, worn out from dancing with my friends, I see Jesse leaning against it. Surprisingly not with a girl, I notice.

"All right," he says to me, nodding. I nod back, unsure why, and order my drink. I don't dislike Jesse, but he's not my best friend.

He moves closer to me. "Let me pay for that."

"Why?" I ask. It's inexpensive. I may not be rich but I can afford a fruit smoothie.

Jesse laughs. He has a nice laugh, clear and happy. It shows off his dimples. "Can't I treat you?"

I look out to the beach. Marina is oblivious, but Paddy keeps glancing at us. I don't see Will.

I remember how Jesse broke Marina's heart. I remember his mother's face when my mother exposed her and my father's affair, and I remember Jesse teasing me about it for weeks. How he chipped my brother's tooth. How he cheered and bellowed when his cousin won the Hunger Games, and he was only a child.

"No thanks," I say. "I've got it."

"Really," Jesse says. He pulls out an expensive wallet. "You don't have to."

"It's my drink and I want to," I say, growing a little agitated. I always try and be polite, but I'm not used to arguing with somebody like this.

The man who owns the shack places down my smoothie and extends his hand. I place down the coins, and Jesse slaps his wallet shut.

"Suit yourself," he says and saunters away.

I shake my head. Weird. At least he didn't try and fight me, what with his extra training sessions. I know all about his temper.

"What did he want?" Paddy asks when I return to my friends.

"A dance and a date," I say.

Will, who was dancing with Marina before, looks shocked for a second. Then he wears a mask of indifference.

Marina doesn't say anything. I don't say anything else either since I know it bothers her. He hurt her. And like with my own home, I feel like there is a rule in our group. We don't talk about this sort of stuff. It gets buried and forgotten.

It's dark now, completely, and there are solar lights and candles and moonlight and stars to guide us as we dance, socialise and have fun. As I recognise more people, I stop worrying. Though there is a knot in my stomach and I don't know why.

"Oh my," Marina breathes after I finish my second drink (paid for by me). At first I think she's talking about the dancing but then I see she's looking at somebody.

Finnick is two years older than me. I never saw him when I was at school, and I never saw him on weekends, only when my father and his crossed paths and we happened to be there too. I watched him, but he never watched me. But he was nice. Nothing like Jesse, although his prettiness granted him forgiven opportunities to be a jerk.

And he was pretty, back then. As he grew older, scarred by the Games, he changed. Older and more muscled, lean and tall. He grew handsome as the years went by, losing his boyish good looks and growing into a desirable young adult.

Only nineteen, but he has a look in his eyes that I think often gets overlooked.

His eyes betray him, like Will's, show how he holds the weight of the world on his shoulders and doesn't complain.

He never complains.

Then Marina loved him. Now she still does – like one loves their favourite celebrity: from afar. I don't think she'd be well-suited to him. Anyway, he isn't Will.

"I didn't think he'd be here," she says wistfully. He isn't really. He's standing on the far beach, nearer his house, and he seems oblivious to the throng of people throwing their worries into sweet smoothies and salty deserts before a day of torture.

"I swear, he looks better everyday," somebody says beside me. A younger girl. Marina's other sister. They look almost identical, except with different lengths of hair.

"Calliope," Marina says sternly.

"What?" she says. She winks at me. "He does."

"You're fourteen," Marina says. Even though we were younger than that when she started crushing on Finnick.

"Whatever," Calliope says. She walks away.

"Bye, Callie!" I call. She raises a hand.

Marina watches Finnick still. He's leaning against the wall of his garden, staring at the sea. He doesn't really see us. Or maybe he's ignoring our shared noise. I suddenly feel bad. We're practically on his front path.

Finnick is an object of many, many girls' affection tonight, and eventually he looks, to their delight. Just a fleeting look, and then he turns, enters a gate and disappears.

Marina squeezes my forearm. "What a man."

Everybody stopped referring to Finnick as a boy years ago, even though he's still young.

Paddy and Will join us, looking unimpressed. I think it's about Finnick, at first, until Paddy sighs and points behind them.

Jesse stands on a raised platform, a stage of sorts. A few musicians watch him wearily as they tune their instruments, and Jesse pretends he doesn't notice.

He flexes and I almost gag. He's showing off his muscles to a crowd of younger girls on the beach. Calliope is there, swooning.

Marina gapes, but for a different reason than Finnick. "Stupid boy."

He's a year younger than Finnick, Jesse is. But he's childish and immature. A boy. Marina looks down on him.

We walk over for some reason. I think Marina wants to rescue Calliope, who really shouldn't be out so late. I see her yawn. Two seconds later she's being grabbed by Marina.

Normally she doesn't curse but today she does, and it grabs Jesse's attention. He pauses, looking over at us. His t-shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

"Oh," he says. "You guys."

"Shut up, Jesse." Marina grits her teeth. She doesn't look at him. "You're such a tool."

Jesse laughs. I love his laugh, but I should hate it.

"Just having a bit of fun. Right, boys?" he says, looking innocent. He tries to be striking, but he doesn't have any natural charm to back him up.

I think of Finnick.

"Right," Paddy says. Marina and Will glare at him.

Jesse looks at me. I feel small under his gaze and he knows it. He cocks his head. "Annie Cresta."

I don't say anything. I might have done, but what he says next surprises me into silence.

"I know your brother," he says. You chipped his tooth, I think. But he says, "He's great with a spear."

I freeze. "What?" My brother has never been near a spear in his life. I would know.

"I said," he says, jumping off the platform, "he's great with a spear. Amongst other things."

"How..." I shake my head. I don't believe him.

"Annie," Will says gently, holding my wrist.

"He wouldn't," I say, scowling. He wouldn't.

I repeat it in my head.

Jesse rolls his eyes. "I let him in myself. Don't act so surprised. He wouldn't get those arms from working with Dad."

He's thin, my brother. But he has some muscles, and I always assumed it was because he's my father's apprentice, not because he was sneaking off to secret training.

I shove Jesse and spin around. I'm running, and somebody's coming after me, but I don't stop.

There's only one purpose behind these training sessions. To volunteer.

It takes me a while to reach my home. I slow down, breathing hard and heavy. Nobody is behind me. Whoever tried to follow me gave up clearly, and I'm happy. I don't want anybody to see me looking so pathetic.

My front door broke years ago. For anybody else it looks secure and locked shut. But I know that if you kick it gently a few times it'll open as though you've turned a key through the useless lock. Inside, I press the door closed, and should anybody venture past at this time, they'd see it as they normally do.

I walk quietly even though my family are a family of heavy sleepers. Our stairs, wooden and light blue, creak with each step, no matter how careful I am.

There is one window in the hallway. I can see the dark sky and the bright stars and for a second I allow myself to get lost in the beauty. Then my heavy eyelids remind me that it's dark, I'm exhausted and I have a big day tomorrow, no matter the income.

It's never easy.

I creep past my parents' room and see, through the crack in the door, that they don't hold each other as they sleep. My mother faces the wall, my father faces her back. I'm not surprised. I don't pretend my family are happy. It doesn't matter who claims forgiveness. I can see beyond that.

My brother's door is wide open. Possibly my mother came to check on him and didn't bother to shut it. Anyhow, I can see him. He snores softly, his hand wrapped under his pillow and his foot hanging off the side of his bed.

His hair looks messier as I approach him; it takes years off him. I can remember him when he was young, looking up to boys like Jesse and Finnick and calling them his heroes.

I can't bear to look at him. If I do, I might not be able to hold in my emotion. And I'm usually good at that.

So I leave, the floor creaking and almost giving me away. But I have bigger things to worry about.

My room is cold now and I take an extra blanket from the closet across the hall. I take about two steps in all, and then I'm on my bed, slipping off my clothes and wrapping myself in one, two, three blankets. My eyes hurt, I'm so tired. But for a while I lay awake, staring out the window, blinking away tears.

Less than twenty-four hours, I think. My brother is only one room away. I don't want to think about him, or what he thought before he fell asleep.

I close my eyes. It's a night full of decisions, I decide.

When I finally drift away, I dream of the sea.

**A/N **Whew! This is the longest a first chapter of mine has ever been. I hope you enjoyed!


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